Le choix d'Aminta
by WandringChild
Summary: Three years had passed since the great chandelier fell over the audience at the Opera Populaire. A shape in the shadows seemed to renounce to his position. But now he has returned...
1. Chapter I Part one

**Good morning, all… or afternoon, I think it doesn't matter :P. Welcome to "Le choix d'Aminta", or "Aminta's choice" -as you please-, a fanfic I'm co-writing with a friend, user of FF as well, LittleLotte.**

**This story has been inspired in our obsession about the Phantom of the Opera and specially Gerik's character… We love him as many of you do, so I know you can understand us xD. **

**This story has been written in Spanish, our first language, and now it will be translated to English. Sorry for the mistakes we could make translating it and for the expressions we use, that sometimes won't be the correct ones. Enjoy and please REVIEW! Thank you! **

**Xx-xX**

"André! Wake up!" -monsieur Firmin hit with his walking stick his friend Moncharmin, who was nodding sleepy on his seat.

The manager shook his head startled, the top hat he had over his lap fell to the floor.

"Never do that again, Richard!" - André reprimanded him-. "You know I'm difficult to sleep..."

"Difficult to sleep?" -answered monsieur Firmin-. "Someone who's able to sleep with the clatter of the wheels over the cobbles of this streets can't say he's difficult to sleep, Moncharmin!"

"I'm exhausted from lack of sleep... I haven't sleep by weeks for this bloody sale" -said André making himself comfortable against the upholstered door, closing his eyes-. "I think I will hurt nobody if I have a little nap..."

"Have it later. We're arriving. Look!"

Monsieur Firmin drew back the net curtain that was covering the dark window, showing the filled streets to his companion. At the end of the road, tall and stately, the building of the Opera House of Paris was rising, white and gleaming, reflecting the weak sunlight of the dying sun. It seemed to be burning like a golden pyre, arrogant and haughty.

Firmin looked away as he felt his eyes were burning with melancholy; That night three years ago came to his mind powerfully; that bloody night in which the great disaster fell over the splendid Opera House; that night in which the great chandelier fell over the audience while the magnanimous chords of Don Juan Triumphant were resounding among the high columns and the golden goddesses, that being blind and dumb waited patiently to be consumed by the devastating flames.

The Theatre burnt...

And with it their dreams, their ambitions...

And the great secret was revealed...

_He_ was real...

Firmin, close that window! -said André, annoyed-. I want to enjoy the last resting moments we can have before this night... Richard!

The manager gave an absent-minded glance to his friend, that was covering his face from the daylight with the grey hat, being unaware of his thoughts. He drew the black velvet curtain and took his walking stick thoughtful, lost his glance in the silver hilt.

_Was he real?... Still?..._

The coach halted abruptly. Firmin grasped the door, trying not to fall, while André tossed and turned in dreams to remain calm again. The small door was wide opened, allowing the cold Parisian breeze enter the carriage, as the light reflected over the golden facade of the Opera House did.

"Monsieurs?" -a feminine voice called them from the outside firmly, with a very well known tone to both managers.

"Madame Giry!" -Richard Firmin greeted the woman, getting off the coach. He took her hand placing a respectful kiss on it-. "You don't know how pleased we are now madame, knowing we can count on you again, even thought for a short time. Aren't we, Moncharmin?" -he smiled. There was no answer-. "Moncharmin?"

The manager turned his head and he saw André crouched down the soft curtains, sleeping, clinging to his hat.

"Moncharmin!" -Monsieur Richard hit the manager with his stick again, and André awaked startled.

"The Phantom!" -Moncharmin shouted. He was breathless, wide opened his eyes. Firmin looked at him, astonished.

"The Phantom?"

"The Opera Ghost, Richard! _He_... _He_ was talking to me!"

Monsieur Firmin and madame Giry were flabbergasted, too much surprised to say a word.

"Excuse me monsieur Moncharmin" -said madame Giry-, "but I think you should rest before tonight's soirée."

"This warning does not come from my imagination, he was threatening me for our return!... If you hadn't woken me up I would…"

"Monsieur! Behave properly!" -the woman interrupted him with an imperative, nervous tone-. "You musn't speak of this here, in the middle of the street, so close the reopening of the theatre!"

"Yes André, stop talking nonsense! That man -_or whatever it was_- passed away! He doesn't exist now! -the manager turned his head to madame Giry, who he knew, had been a very close friend to that masked death-. Does he?" -he asked with concern.

The woman looked at him sternly, pressing her lips.

"Come with me, monsieurs. They are waiting for you."


	2. Chapter I part two

Monsieur Moncharmin, whitish his face because of the ghostly meeting de had in sleep moments before, and monsieur Firmin, who was starting to get nervous, moved upward the Grand Staircase after madame Giry, who had entered the Palais Garnier with great self-confidence.

The managers crossed as fast as they could the foyer following the woman's trail, prelude of the great wonders that had been done while the rebuilding of the Opera House after the flames had consumed it.

"I never thought of such a repair... I never thought I would see this theatre exactly as we can remember it, as we left it that fatal day in which..." Moncharmin said obviously touched.

"Oh, come on André" -Firmin interrupted him, urging him to walk with his stick-. "Let's not make madame Giry and the others wait. You'll have time to admire the achievements they did for this three years!"

Firmin was walking again when he stopped dead, looking back to his friend. He advised him.

"And change that face, please! No more bloody spectres from deep hells, right? Forget your dream. We don't want to attract the attention of buried affairs. The last thing we want tonight is to remember... Well... You know what..."

Monsieur Moncharmin nodded slightly. His dream wasn't one from a madman. It was very real; He could still remember that unforgettable voice, that gentle and pleasant tone that could captivate any mortal or drive them crazy with dread if it wanted to. And that was what happened to monsieur Moncharmin; even though he tried to hide his fear when he was with Firmin, the Phantom's words had filled him with anguish, a very well known anguish...

When the former managers entered the Great Hall, the applauses filled the room with a fuss.

It was like if the time hadn't passed and that was the very day in which both inexperienced managers were taking their position from the former ones. The same golden mosaics over an iridescent enamel; the same paintings that covered the decorated walls, showing the richness and the elegance the theatre had on the inside; even the same applauses they received in the past, thinking of the glorious days to come there, at the Opera Populaire...

Every worker stopped doing their business to meet the ones they served before the unfortunate day.

"Thank you, thank you so much" -said monsieur Firmin-. "I'm glad to meet you again after the great incident, you know... It's my pleasure to observe the splendid restoration you had made and your excellent job for the reopening of this Opera House."

"The new managers will be as pleased as we are knowing they can count on such a good workers to help them in the hard task that awaits them" -monsieur Moncharmin concluded without any vehemence.

"Monsieur Firmin and monsieur Moncharmin would want to go to the office to hand over the new managers the directorship of the Opera House" -said madame Giry, who had been behind them.

"That's right madame. We want to settle the sale so monsieur Montlouis and monsieur Fratizelli can practise their position without delay."

"Then come with me."

The workers returned to their tasks while Richard and André were following Madame Giry once more through the corridors, to their old office. They could check that the room was very well conserved. It seemed like if the documents hadn't been moved from their places.

"The fire didn't reach this room, so the office is as you can remember it the last time you were here" -said madame Giry, reading their minds-. "Wait a moment messieurs, I'll bring a document you must sign."

André collapsed over his seat while Richard was leafing through the papers on the bureau.

"How many memories..." -Richard whispered-. "It is like if the time hadn't passed, don't you think, my friend? Nothing has been moved since we left."

"Yes, this..." -said André wiping away the sweat upon his forehead with a handkerchief he had on his pocket-, "this is too weird. Someone should come to wipe this room..."

"Look!" -Firmin exclaimed-. "It is like if that note were upon the desk again! Do you remember? The Phantom's note?"

"Stop joking, Richard! You told me to forget him! Moreover, don't play the fool, it's impossible that that could be the Phantom's note because I took it to the police station for the research they opened..."

"What? Th... Then.. That... is..."

"For God's sake, stop stammering Richard! Whose is that damned note from?"

"It's… from the Opera Ghost..." -answered Firmin, as pale as his friend.

"What?... It can't be... It just can't be!"

"See it for yourself..."


End file.
